


Sometimes It Lasts In Love (But Sometimes It Hurts Instead)

by bryoneybrynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryoneybrynn/pseuds/bryoneybrynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the fact their relationship has been over for years, Draco finds himself standing at Harry Potter’s front door one winter’s afternoon…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes It Lasts In Love (But Sometimes It Hurts Instead)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Femme (femmequixotic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/gifts).



> **Content/Enticements:** Flangsty goodness. Draco may be more emotionally expressive than is strictly canon but, hey, sometimes you have to put your heart on the line. ;)  
>  **Disclaimer:** Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of 18.  
>  **Author's Notes:** A gift to femmequixotic, who has given me so many of my very favourite fics and is an all around awesome person. It was very fun to write for you. I wish my little fic could even approach the fabulousness of your works, but I hope it brings you a smile all the same. A huge thank you to D and N for their speedy help with this fic. I continued to play after their work and any remaining mistakes are my own. Thank you to the mods for their patience and flexibility and for bringing the h/d community another awesome holiday fest. Title and inspiration for this fic were taken from Adele’s “Someone Like You.” The first time I heard that song, I had a flash of Draco standing on Harry’s doorstep and it was great to have the chance to finally put it to paper. And by the by, the mug featured in the fic does exist - I happened across it online many moons ago and had a pic of it saved, just waiting for the chance to use it in a fic, but alas, that was several crashed computers ago. Femme, I hope you’ll forgive the hint of blasphemous humour. ;) Happy holidays, my darling!!!

Sometimes It Lasts In Love (But Sometimes It Hurts Instead)

_I heard that you’re settled down_  
That you found a girl and you’re married now  
I heard that your dreams came true  
Guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you...

_I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited_  
But I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it  
I had hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded  
That for me, it isn’t over... 

\- Adele, “Someone Like You”

 

Eyes closed tight, Draco popped into existence on the outskirts of the small seaside village, the crack of his Apparition muted against the distant roar of waves, though still loud enough to startle an indignant cry from a nearby starling. He took a slow breath and let the damp sea air wash over him, cold despite the bright afternoon sunshine, its scent briny and sharp. His throat tightened as memory rushed up and he swallowed roughly.

For a long moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, face turned up toward the sky, trying to pretend he was just taking a minute to seek the warmth of the sun on a chilly November afternoon, but it was a poor attempt, and he knew it. He knew he needed to open his eyes—he hadn’t come to sniff the sea air, after all—but he was afraid to do so. What if he opened them to nothing but an empty stretch of grass?

This time he couldn’t swallow past the catch in his throat.

Draco allowed himself one last, tight-shut squeeze of his eyelids before opening his eyes.

It was in there front of him, the unassuming brick house with its sprawling front garden, looking almost exactly as it had the last time he’d seen it. Relief swept through him so powerfully he actually felt his legs tremble, as if they might give out and send him tumbling onto his arse right there in the middle of the dirt lane. 

He tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything. So he could still see the house, so what? All it meant was that Harry hadn’t redone his Fidelius Charm. And why should he? He’d have to go through all the trouble of securing a new Secret Keeper, having that person tell all his friends and family again, one by one, taking up someone else’s time and effort—something Harry hated to do—and all over Draco, a long-over ex-boyfriend who didn’t even live in the country anymore. No, it made sense that Harry hadn’t bothered with it. It was just practical. It didn’t mean anything. 

Still, Draco felt noticeably lighter as he made his way up the path. 

The feeling faltered a bit as he got to the front door—painted Gryffindor red, as always—but he lifted a hand and knocked quickly before he could change his mind.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, he heard a great crashing sound and a voice—no, voices—talking loudly, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door swung wide, and Draco had to look down to see who had opened it—a smallish child with tousled hair, curious brown eyes, and a freckled nose. He looked up at Draco, silent, and Draco looked back, just as speechless, his heart suddenly knocking against his ribs.

This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have come.

Before he could do anything about it, though, there were more footsteps and a voice calling out, “James, how many times do I have to tell you not to answer the—Oh!”

Draco dragged his gaze up from the boy, James, and saw Harry.

_Harry._

Just as Draco remembered him: black hair wild, green eyes bright behind his glasses, as tall and broad-shouldered and gorgeous as he’d been the last time they’d stood together in that spot. 

There were differences, too, though. The new, more stylish glasses. The lines at the corners of his eyes. The wedding band on his finger. The baby in his arms. 

Even as Draco took in these details, he was aware of Harry’s eyes widening, his mouth dropping open, his entire face telegraphing his surprise at seeing Draco standing at his front door. It would have been comical if Draco hadn’t been on the verge of a complete breakdown. 

This was a _monumental_ mistake. What had he been thinking coming here?

He debated just Apparating away, to hell without how it looked, when Harry said, “Draco?” 

And his voice, oh god, his voice saying Draco’s name. It took him right back to the first time Harry had ever called him by his given name. The memory crashed over him—the two of them tangled in the sheets in Harry’s bed, here at this house, a rare summer thunderstorm howling outside, shaking the walls, lightning illuminating Harry’s long, lean body in electric flashes. Harry holding him tight, moving over him, his eyes locked on Draco’s and Draco’s name on his lips whispered into the darkness, barely more than breath, but Draco had heard him, and his heart had leapt in a way that would embarrass him later. But in that moment, he’d only pulled Harry closer, kissed him harder, and the storm had raged on, and Draco had been so happy. God, he’d been so bloody happy.

Draco nodded, looking down at his shoes, at the doorframe, at the child, James, at anything to keep from having to look at Harry. “Hello, Harry.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, disbelief plain in his tone.

Draco closed his eyes, helpless. How could he possibly answer that question?

As if sensing this, Harry gave his head a small shake, hitched the baby up on his hip, and said, “Never mind. Would you like to come in?” He moved back, holding the door open for Draco.

James, though, stood there blocking the path, staring and silent.

Sighing, Harry dropped a hand onto James’s shoulder and steered him out of the doorway. “James, can you go play with your brother, please? Daddy needs to talk with his friend.”

James didn’t say anything in response, but he turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Draco with no reason not to enter Harry’s home. He stepped into the house, his hair catching on the outstretched fingers of the red-headed baby in Harry’s arms as he brushed by them. Harry untangled Draco’s hair from the grasping fingers and folded the small hand in his own with a gentle “No pulling, Lily!” before using his foot to push closed the door behind them.

The house was much as Draco remembered it—sunlight spilling through leaded glass windows, warm wood floors worn smooth with age, the feeling of welcome apparent as soon as you stepped through the door. Off to the left, the front room seemed almost unchanged with the same blue sofa and matching armchairs Draco had sat on many times, Harry’s old Hogwarts trunk still serving as a coffee table. Rainbows flashed on the walls as the afternoon sunbeams refracted through the windows. Harry had always loved sitting there together, watching the colours moving across Draco’s skin, chasing after them with fingertips and lips…

It wasn’t all the same, however. In one armchair sat a pile of small jackets, presumably tossed there carelessly upon arrival home. The top of Harry’s trunk was now scattered with brightly illustrated children’s books as well as the familiar Quidditch magazines. The walls were decorated with crayon drawings, the coloured pages framed and hung with all the care and attention that would be given to real works of art. One pictured showed a stick figure drawing of a family of five. The father had glasses and a lightning bolt scar. The mother had long, red hair. They were all holding hands.

Harry led Draco down the hallway toward the kitchen at the back of the house. It was bright and open, as Draco remembered, but had also seen change. The dining area had been small before, barely big enough to hold a table and two narrow chairs. It had been magically expanded and now contained a burnished oak table easily large enough to seat eight. The expansion also included the addition of a new room off the back of the kitchen. Through the wide archway, Draco spotted a veritable sea of toys, and he could hear shrieks and laughter. A playroom then.

He turned back to face Harry only to find Harry watching him. Harry had apparently regrouped after the initial shock of finding Draco at his door. His face was carefully blank, his green eyes guarded. 

“It’s different,” Draco offered.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. “It has been a while.”

Six years, but who was counting?

The baby in Harry’s arms—Lily—gave an ear-piercing shriek followed by a happy gurgle. Harry kissed her cheek before setting her down. He took his time steadying her, making sure she’d found her feet before letting her go. She toddled precariously towards the playroom. They both watched her progress. 

Once she’d disappeared through the archway, Harry turned his attention back to Draco. It was unnerving how blank his expression was. Harry had always been like an open book, unable to keep what he was feeling from his face. Draco didn’t know what to make of this new, circumspect Harry. He did, however, know he was staring; he just couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Harry stared steadily back.

Silence stretched taut between them. Draco felt the urge to fidget, his fingers twitching at his side. 

Harry was the one who finally spoke first. “I didn’t realise you were back.”

“I’m not, not really,” Draco said too quickly, the words coming out in a rush.

And he wasn’t. He had absolutely no business in England. He’d just needed to see Harry. It had been building for months, constant thoughts of Harry, the need to see him, to talk to him. Not that Harry was ever really far from mind. But the need had been growing persistently, maddeningly, until Draco could hardly even think. When he’d woken that morning, he’d felt like it was time to do something about it, so he’d bought an international Portkey and come. He hadn’t had a plan. He hadn’t stopped to think what he’d say once he was there. He’d just known it was time.

Harry was looking at him, obviously waiting for a bit more of an explanation for Draco showing up at his home unannounced after six years. 

Draco cleared his throat and reached for a casual tone as he made up an excuse. “I had some family business to attend to. It brought me to the area and I thought—”

But he broke off there because what he had thought was so far from the truth it made his stomach clench. For all that he’d been thinking about Harry lately, he’d never really considered—hadn’t _let_ himself consider—that Harry might have moved on. 

Harry was still looking at him expectantly. “You thought...?” he prompted.

“I thought—” Draco’s throat closed and he swallowed hard. “I—”

Draco was saved by the sudden arrival of a small boy—a different small boy—who was shouting before he’d even fully entered the kitchen. “Dad! Jamie took my Nim’us and he won’ give it back.”

“Albus,” Harry said, a gentle admonishment in his voice. “We’ve talked about this before. The broom belongs to everyone. You and James need to take turns using the Nimbus.”

“But Daddy! I was gonna use it and he jus’ _took_ it!”

Harry shot Draco an apologetic look as he knelt down to talk to Albus, but it barely registered with Draco; he couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. He looked exactly like Harry. Same messy black hair, same almond-shaped green eyes, same mulish set to his jaw as he stubbornly clung to his outrage at his brother’s offense. And somehow seeing them together, Harry and his spitting-image son, brought it all into sharp focus in a way that the baby and the pile of jackets and the expanded playroom had not. 

He was standing in Harry’s house where he lived with his children and presumably their mother. 

Their mother. 

Draco’s eyes sought out the gleam of gold on Harry’s left hand. God, Harry was _married_. He was married to a woman. Not just any woman but—judging from the drawing in the front room, Lily’s red curls, and James’s freckled nose—Ginny Weasley. Harry was living the happily-ever-after he’d always wanted, and Draco was…what? What was he doing? What had he been thinking?

Draco took a lurching step backward and spoke right over the conversation Harry was having with his son. “I should let you—I should go.”

Harry looked up from where he knelt in front of Albus, eyes sharp. “What?”

Draco eyes skittered away from Harry’s.“I’ve obviously come at a bad time. I’ll just see myself out.”

“No, Draco.” Harry started to rise.“Just give me a minute.”

“It’s all right,” Draco said, backing towards the hallway. “Really. I shouldn’t have come.”

Harry was on his feet now, moving after him. “Wait, Draco.” When Draco kept moving backwards, Harry’s expression hardened. “Dammit, would you just give me a minute?”

Draco stopped. Waited.

Harry turned back to his son. “Al, I’d like you to go back into the playroom and _without fighting_ tell your brother to pick out a few toys to take to Granny’s. You do the same.”

Albus’s angry pout disappeared, his eyes lighting up. “We’re going to Granny and Grandad’s?”

Harry nodded. “As long as they’re home, yes.”

Albus dashed back into the playroom with a whoop. 

Harry turned and fixed Draco with a hard look. “You, stay right there.”

Harry strode down the hall. A second later Draco heard the whoosh of the Floo and then the familiar voice of Molly Weasley.

“Harry! It’s nice to see you!”

“Hi, Molly. Sorry to just Floo out of nowhere, but I was hoping you might be available to watch the children for a bit.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. Something’s come up that I need to deal with. Could you watch them for me?”

“Of course!”

“Do you have nappies for Lily, or should I pack some?”

“No, we have everything we need over here. You just come when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Molly. You’re the best.”

There was a whirlwind of activity as Harry helped the children pack up a few of their favourite toys, wiped their hands and faces, and then wrestled them all into coats and boots.

He gathered them all together and then paused to give Draco another firm look. “I’ll be back in two minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

Draco said nothing but managed a nod. Harry ushered the children down the hall. The Floo whooshed to life again, the children’s voices rose in an excited babble, there came the sounds of shuffling and movement, and then everything was silent.

Draco exhaled a shuddery sigh and raised a hand to his forehead; his thoughts moved so fast they blurred together into a senseless buzz droning against the inside of his skull. But he didn’t need to be able to think clearly to understand the extent of his idiocy. Why on earth he thought Harry would just be here, the same as before...

He lowered his hand and let his gaze wander the kitchen, forcing himself to face the evidence of Harry’s happy family life. He took in the colouring books and crayons strewn over the dining table, the detritus of craft supplies and biscuit crumbs on the floor, the smudged fingerprints on the white cupboards, the dirty dishes on the worktop—small plastic cups with varying amounts of leftover juice, a plate holding a crust of toast, an old mug.

His eyes snagged on the mug, pulled back by the jolt of recognition. Pansy had found it in Muggle London and bought it as a gift for Harry. It had been his second Christmas with Harry, their relationship far enough along that their friends were starting to become friends with each other, old animosities giving way to their burgeoning understanding of each other, of the adults they’d grown into rather than the frightened children they’d been years ago.

He closed his eyes against the memory of how it had been, the easy place they had reached where the past was no longer the elephant in the room, where Pansy could give Harry a mug emblazoned with the words “Love him, for he is the Savior of the World.” He remembered how they’d laughed about it, Harry and Pansy, their dark heads bent towards each other. How Harry had kissed her forehead and squeezed her fingers. How Pansy had smiled over at Draco, her eyes dancing. How it had seemed in that moment that maybe everything really would be okay. That they would be okay, all of them, despite everything.

Blinking hard, he turned away from the mug and the memory. 

A moment later, he heard the flare of the Floo and the familiar sound of Harry’s footsteps landing on the hearth. There was a rustling sound—Harry brushing off the ashes—more footsteps and then Harry appeared in the kitchen, his eyes immediately seeking out Draco. Some emotion flashed across his face as he found Draco still there, something strong and unguarded, but it was gone before Draco could make sense of it. 

“Did you get them settled all right?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded but said nothing. He looked at Draco, inscrutable but intense. Draco fought the urge to shift. It had been a long time since he’d felt the weight of Harry’s gaze. It pushed at him, making him feel foolish and wrong-footed.

“I’m sorry for all the commotion,” he offered, unable to tolerate the silence. “I admit, I didn’t think it through very well. I hadn’t realised...”

How completely Harry had moved on. How Draco had no place in his life now. 

He winced inwardly and forced himself to finish. “I hadn’t realised how much of a disruption I would cause.”

Harry snorted at this and scrubbed a hand over his face, but then he shrugged. “They’re always happy to go to the Burrow, and Molly’s always happy to have them there. I’m pretty sure she’d keep them permanently if she thought she could get away with it.”

“You look good. Fatherhood suits you.” Draco only said it to say something, to fill the uncomfortable space between them, but as the words came out, he realised it was true. Watching Harry with his children, even with all the squabbling and bustle, he seemed at ease with it. A natural. “You always wanted a family.”

Harry’s desire for children had been something Draco had worried about once upon a time. He’d known Harry would be a great dad, but Draco had always believed he himself would make a shit father. He had, after all, come from a long line of shit fathers...

All moot now.

The wry expression on Harry’s face suggested his thoughts were perhaps similar. For a moment, they just stood there, facing each other across the kitchen, all their lost, broken dreams strewn between them.

“What are you doing here, Draco?” 

So much for small talk.

Draco shrugged. “Like I said, I was nearby.” At Harry’s raised eyebrows, he added, “Well, maybe not exactly nearby.” Harry did pretty much live in the middle of nowhere, after all. “But near enough. Thought I’d pop around.”

“Why?” Harry asked bluntly.

“Why?”

“Yes, Draco, _why_?Why did you want to see me? Why just show up all of a sudden, no Owl, no Floo call.” 

_No warning_. Harry didn’t say the words, but Draco heard them nonetheless. 

“I—” Draco paused, stopping the half-lies and excuses before they left his lips. Harry had always been able to see through those and, besides, the look in Harry’s eyes was telling him nothing less than the truth would be tolerated. But the truth made Draco’s guts crawl, so he hedged. “I didn’t really think it through. I just thought it might be nice to see you so I just... came.”

“You thought it might be nice to see me.” Harry repeated, a bitter edge to his tone. “Never mind what it might be like for me to have you suddenly show up out of the blue, I suppose, right?”

Draco opened his mouth to retort but then closed it. Harry was right. He was absolutely right. He hadn’t given any thought to how Harry would feel about it. He’d just followed his own wanting, just come.

Harry’s reserve seemed to crack; anger flared in his eyes. “It’s been six _years_ , Draco! Six years of _nothing_ , and then you just come to my house in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, just pop by like we’re—”

Harry broke off abruptly and sagged back against the worktop, his head bowed. Draco waited a long moment for him to say more, but it seemed Harry was done.

“Do you want me to leave?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” Harry said, and Draco felt the word hit him in the stomach. “No. I don’t know.” He waved at the table and chairs. “Just sit down. I’ll make us some tea.”

Draco sat while Harry located the teapot and then began rummaging through the cupboards for clean mugs.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry said, his head in still in the cupboard. “Saturdays are a little hairy at the moment.”

Draco allowed himself a smile. Harry had never been particularly tidy. He could only imagine that three kids had done little to help with that. “You don’t have to apologise.”

Harry shot him a quick, awkward smile of acknowledgement as he set the mugs on the counter. He filled the teapot with water and looked at Draco uneasily.

Draco couldn’t think of a thing to say. His hands found a nearby crayon, and he turned it nervously in his fingers. Half a dozen pictures were spread in front of him, most of them featuring a dark-haired stick figure on a broom.

“Who’s the artist?” he asked, with a nod towards the drawings.

“All of them, really, but those in particular are Albus’s. The boys got a new broom over the summer—just a toy but a bit more advanced than their last one. It’s become a bit of an obsession.”

“Taking after their father?”Draco asked, quirking a brow.

“Their mother, more likely,” Harry replied.

Draco felt all the blood drain from his face and knew he’d gone pale. He stared, mute. Harry stared back, his expression neutral, but Draco knew him, even after all this time, and everything about his body language said he was preparing for things to turn ugly.

The moment grew heavy and then heavier still, but neither one of them broke the gaze. 

Reprieve came in the form of a grey ball of fluff that wound around Draco’s ankles. He jumped at the first brush of the creature against his leg, a laugh startled out of him when he looked down and saw a cat rubbing up against his trouser leg.

“Who’s this, then?” he said.

The tension broken, Harry turned back to the tea, muttering a heating spell at the teapot, setting it to steaming. “That’s Carl, and no, I have no idea where the name came from. Ginny named him.”

It took everything in him not to react to Harry’s casual mention of his wife. “He’s friendly? I mean, he’ll let me hold him?”

Harry snorted. “He’ll let anyone hold him. That one can never get enough attention.”

Draco dared a sly glance at Harry; once upon a time, Harry used to say something very similar about him. Something warm flared in Harry’s eyes before he turned away, hastily busying himself setting the tea to steeping.

Draco smiled inwardly; he’d count that as a win. “So, how long have you had Carl?”

“Hmm, well, we got him right around the time James was born...” Harry said vaguely, turning back to face Draco but not quite meeting his eye.

Something about the way Harry said it squashed Draco’s good feeling and set alarm bells ringing in his head. He didn’t know much about children, but James hadn’t looked to be more than maybe four. Harry’s face said differently, his frown like a harbinger. Draco gave him a questioning look.

“So, five years ago,” Harry clarified.

Everything in Draco froze as he did the math. “Five?”

Harry eyes narrowed, and his jaw set as though he could read Draco’s mind. Draco would have sworn the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. “That’s right. James turned five in September.”

Draco shot to his feet, almost toppling the wooden chair he’d been sitting in. He shouldn’t say anything, knew it would be throwing fuel on a fire that had barely banked, but the words came spilling out anyway. “Bloody hell, Harry! Did you even wait for my Portkey to activate before you rolled into bed with her?”

Harry pushed off the worktop, eyes blazing. “Oh no you don’t. _No_. You do not get to judge me. You have no right.”His words came fast and rough. “I asked you to marry me, Draco. To _marry me_. And before the month was out, you’d left the country. Gone. Without a word of explanation or goodbye.”

Shame squirmed through Draco, dousing his anger. “I did try to explain. I left you a letter.”

Harry jerked forward but then checked himself. His hands clenched into fists at his side. He breathed heavily through his nose before grinding out, “We were together for four years. A letter is nothing. A letter is shit, and you know it.”

And he did. He’d known it then, he knew it now, but it had been the best he’d been able to do at the time. Cowardly, probably, but he’d agonised over that letter, trying to get it just right. Trying to break Harry’s heart as gently as possible even as he'd attempted to salvage his own.

“Did you at least read it?” he asked.

Angry colour climbed up Harry’s neck and across his cheeks. “Of course I read it! I read it so many times I practically wore the ink off the parchment. But that’s not the point. The point is that you walked out on me, so you do not get to stand there and act like the victim. In fact, I think you should go. I don’t know why I even let you in in the first place.”

Draco started, shocked. Panic flooded him, stealing his breath and making it hard to speak. “Harry—”

“No. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

Draco could see Harry’s face close down, could see Harry shutting him out. 

He tried again. “If you’d—”

“Just go, Draco,” Harry said, his voice as cold and hard as Draco had ever heard it. “I trust you know the way out, given how good you are at leaving.”

And then, as if he couldn’t stand to be in Draco’s presence a second longer, Harry turned and stalked down the hallway. Draco heard his feet thump up the staircase followed by the slamming of a door upstairs. 

Alone in Harry’s kitchen, Draco indulged in a long, shaky breath. Blinking against the burning at the back of his eyes, he made his way to Harry’s Floo.

~*~

“He’s married, Pans! How could you not tell me he was married?”

Draco let himself slump back into Pansy’s plush ivory sofa, not caring how it looked. He was sulking. He knew he was sulking. But Harry was _married_ , for fuck’s sake. Certainly it warranted a sulk.

He’d Flooed straight to Pansy’s from Harry’s house. She’d been surprised to see him, of course—he hadn’t told her he was in the country, after all—but she’d taken one look at his face, directed him to the sofa and poured him a very generous scotch and soda.

Despite the care, however, the smack she gave his shoulder suggested Pansy was not entirely sympathetic to his plight.“Draco Malfoy! You will not blame this one on me! When you left you were very clear that you did not want to hear any news, gossip, or information regarding Harry. If memory serves—and it does—we were not even to speak his name.”

Which was true enough.

Still, though. 

Her look softened. “And to be honest, darling, I rather thought you knew. From what I understand, Harry is well-known enough in America that he’s in the news now and then. Not with the frequency that he is here, certainly, but I’m quite sure his marriage to Ginny Weasley would have merited at least a mention in the society column or what have you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Much to his mother’s dismay, he’d never willingly read a society column in his life, something Pansy knew full well. “I must have missed it. Which isn’t surprising given that he shacked up with her before I even hit American soil, never mind subscribed to an American paper.” 

Yes, he was definitely sulking.

“It’s not like you’re thinking, darling,” Pansy said gently, her hand smoothing up and down his arm. “Harry was devastated when you left. To be perfectly frank, if you weren’t my very best friend, I would have killed you for what you did to him.”

“He couldn’t have been that devastated if he was fucking Ginny Weasley the next day,” Draco muttered into his drink.

Pansy’s soothing hand withdrew, and she fixed him with a hard look. “Don’t be an arse. You know you broke his heart. Smashed it. The thing with Ginny was a one-off.”

“A one-off?” Draco sputtered.“He _married_ her.”

“Only because of the baby,” Pansy said patiently, as though Draco were a very small child or very dumb adult. Or perhaps just a drunk one, which wasn’t too far off. Draco had a feeling Pansy had done little more than wave the soda bottle over a liberal double of scotch, and his glass was almost empty.“It was the Yule season, a few months after you left. We were all at a big party. Blaise and Ginny had just split up. You remember that part, at least; I must have told you all about it.” At Draco’s blank look, she expanded, “Ugly break-up. He’d cheated on her—of course—more than once. Why anyone would get romantically involved with someone with his reputation...” She shook her head. Blaise was a good friend, but neither she nor Draco had any illusions about his capacity to manage a monogamous relationship. “Anyway, she was in a bad way. Harry was in a bad way. They'd both had way too much to drink and then...” She shrugged.

Draco snorted and downed the last of his drink.“And then he married her the second he found out she was pregnant.”

Pansy took the empty glass and went to the drinks cabinet to fix him another. “Actually, no, he didn’t. He was still waiting for you to come home. Right up until James was born, he waited for you. But once James came...” She shrugged again. “I’ve never seen someone so in love with a baby. And it had been a year with no word from you. So they decided to make a go of it.” She came back to the sofa, handing Draco his drink. She must have done away with the soda waving altogether; his eyes nearly watered from the fumes.“You can’t blame him for that, Draco. He deserved to be loved, to have someone to love.”

He scowled at her. “I think I liked you better when you were offering him up to the Dark Lord.”

Pansy laughed. “I love you, darling, but you never were able to see a good thing when it was right in front of you.”

Her eyes were warm, the laughter genuine and light, but her words reminded Draco that Harry’s heart wasn’t the only one he’d broken over the years. He felt a rush of gratitude that she’d forgiven him for his adolescent cruelty, that they’d held on to their friendship. He kissed her, quick and mushy, and she laughed against his lips. When he pulled back, she had a look of fond exasperation on her face.

“You’re drunk already? America’s turned you into a lightweight.”

Draco kissed her again and pulled her close so she was tucked up against his side. “Maybe it’s time for me to come home then.”

“Really?” Pansy asked, her surprise and delight both plain. “You mean that?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Draco said, surprised, too. He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but now that it was there, he found it appealing. Very appealing. He’d been in exile too long. He missed his friends. He had friends in the States, of course, but it wasn’t the same. England held the people who knew him, all of him. They were his family. And if it really was over between him and Harry, he was going to need his family around him.

~*~

He stayed with Pansy and her husband, Simon, while he house-hunted. Pansy and Simon had been introduced to each other while Draco was overseas. Draco had met Simon before, had visited for the wedding and several times since, but it felt different this time. In the past, he’d always been annoyed by Simon’s presence, wanting Pansy all to himself. Now, though, knowing that he wasn’t going back to America, he made more of an effort to get to know Pansy’s husband. He found he liked him quite a bit. He wasn’t sure why this surprised him; he and Pansy were so much alike, it only made sense Draco would like the fellow she deemed worthy of spending her life with. And it certainly made everything much easier.

Simon was also very knowledgeable about the housing market, particularly the higher-end mixed Muggle and Wizarding areas. In America, mixed residential areas were the norm, and Draco had found he rather enjoyed them. Generations of Malfoys would have spun in their graves to hear Draco say it, but something about the idea of living in an all-Wizarding community felt both claustrophobic and antiquated. 

He was arriving at Pansy’s house one evening after seeing a very promising flat only to find Hermione and Pansy sitting by the fire, their bodies angled towards each other as they laughed about something together. 

During his time with Harry, Hermione had become a friend. A good friend. Such a good friend, in fact, that he burned with shame every time he thought of how he’d treated her in their school years. He hadn’t heard from her once in the past six years. Not that he’d expected any different. Though Ron might not be aware of it, Draco knew Hermione was Harry’s very best friend. There was no question of her loyalties, and when he’d left Harry, he’d lost Hermione. He’d not let himself dwell on it, but seeing her now, his heart wrenched in his chest. 

The women looked up at his arrival, and Draco could tell by their expressions the timing of Hermione’s visit wasn’t accidental.

“Draco, darling,” Pansy called, waving him over. “Look who’s come to see you.”

“Hello, Draco,” Hermione said in a clipped voice. 

He took in the tightness around her eyes, the strained set to her mouth. Her hands were in her lap, but Draco could see the way her fingers seemed to twitch, as though she was barely keeping herself from going for her wand. Or maybe she was fighting not to curl them into a fist. Not that he would blame her. He almost wished she would hit him. Six years ago she would have. The fact that she restrained herself now spoke to the distance between them and, ironic as it was, hurt more than any punch ever could.

“Hi, Hermione.” He offered a smile, but it felt unsteady on his lips. Too full of apologies, he supposed. 

She didn’t return the smile, instead watching him with an assessing gaze as he crossed the room and sat in one of the wingback chairs near the sofa. Once he was settled though, she got right to it.

“Harry told me you went to see him.”

More Gryffindor bluntness. He used to be sure it would be the death of him, but after six years living amongst Americans, it barely gave him pause.

He nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Pansy told me you’re still in love with him.”

He rounded on Pansy, incredulous, but she only rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand at him. He gave a huff of displeasure before turning back to face Hermione. Hermione’s gaze drilled into him.

He met her eyes, unwavering. “I am.”

Hermione scrutinised him a minute longer and then sighed loudly, glancing away and pushing her hair out of her face with a harried air. Draco watched as the brown curls fell right back in front of her eyes. Six years on and she still had no idea how to control it. Draco was careful to keep a fond smile from curving his lips; he doubted it would be appreciated.

Her eyes found Draco’s again, and they seemed less appraising. She bit her lip—an old gesture Draco recognised as a sign of fretting—sighed again, and said, “Harry doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know I’m talking to you about this. He’d be livid if he knew. I’m not even sure I’m doing the right thing.”

He glanced over at Pansy, but the minute shrug of her right shoulder told him she didn’t know what Hermione was talking about any more he did. 

“I’ve known Harry for a long time,” Hermione continued. “And the only time I’ve ever seen him happy, truly happy, was when he was with you.”

Draco felt a flare of warmth in his chest at her words, though he worked to keep it from showing on his face. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and he suspected he hadn’t been successful.

“He loves those children,” she said.“I know he doesn’t regret anything because this path brought them to him. He wouldn’t trade that for anything or anyone.” She paused, worrying her lip between her teeth. She was silent for so long, Draco thought maybe she’d changed her mind about whatever it was she was going to say. But then she took a breath and said, “But he doesn’t love Ginny. Not like he loved you. You should know they’re separated.”

And this time Draco knew he had no hope of keeping what he was feeling from showing on his face.

“They’re keeping it very quiet. Only the family knows right now; well, and now you and Pansy. They’re trying to get the children used to it before they officially get divorced. They’re hoping to get things as settled as they can before it hits the papers. But it’s definitely over between them. It has been for some time. They had been set to split a couple years ago, but a “last good-bye” produced Lily. Why neither of them seems to be able to manage a simple Contraception Charm...” She shook her head.

“Do you think—”he started, but then stopped, not sure if he had the right to ask her advice. 

Hermione seemed to know what he’d been going to say, though; she frowned at him. “He’s furious with you, Draco, make no mistake. We all are. What you did to him was beyond cruel. Honestly, I’d prefer for him to never see you again, never even _think_ of you again.”

He winced. It was no more than he deserved, but it still hurt to hear her say it.

She ignored his response. “But after you left last Saturday, he came to see me and, even though he was so angry my windows were rattling, there was more life in him than I’ve seen in years. In six years, to be exact. He’s never stopped loving you despite what you did. I don’t think he ever will. And then I ran into Pansy yesterday, and she told me you’ve decided to come back to the UK. It just feels like there’s a window of opportunity before either of you meets someone else and moves on, finding out too late that it could have been different.”

Hope expanded in Draco’s chest with every word Hermione said. “You think he’d be open to the idea, then?”

“Truthfully, I have no idea what his response will be. I know he still has feelings for you, but you know Harry. He can be stubborn, and you hurt him very badly. I know for certain he’s not going to come to you. He’s too angry, too hurt. And this is all the help I’m giving. It’s up to you to set things right with him. If that’s what you want.”

Draco nodded, but he was only half-listening, his mind already working on how to get Harry to see him again, how to get through to him.

“Draco,” Hermione said loudly, recapturing his attention. He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and was caught by the ferocity he saw there. “Unless you’re sure, stay away from him. His children are the only thing that got him through your leaving. I don’t think he could survive losing you a second time. Not to mention if you hurt him again, I’ll kill you, and I mean that quite literally.”

~*~

It took weeks to convince Harry to see him. Mindful of Harry’s displeasure with his sudden appearance at his front door last time, Draco was careful to communicate by owl. He wrote to Harry every day, sending his owl just after breakfast so that Harry would know when to expect it and wouldn’t be caught off guard. While he had no doubt Harry understood what he was doing—for someone who had seemed so clueless as a teenager, Harry was a remarkably astute adult—it appeared to make little difference; Draco’s repeated requests to get together were denied. Whether Draco’s letters were short and to the point or long and full of heartfelt pleas and apologies, Harry’s response was consistently one or two polite sentences declining to see him.

So Draco got more creative, sending gifts with his requests. Small things but significant. A bag of Honeyduke’s chocolate straight from Hogsmeade. A box of pastries from Harry’s favourite bakery. A pair of thick warm socks, Gryffindor red, like the ones Harry used to wear around the house on chilly days. Things that let Harry know he hadn’t forgotten. He’d also sent lollies from Honeydukes, a dozen chocolate chip cookies from the bakery, and three smaller pairs of red socks for Harry’s children in recognition of all that had changed.

Eventually Draco’s persistence won out, and Harry agreed to meet with him for thirty minutes on the condition that Draco would stop writing and sending gifts. Never one to do things by halves, Harry’s letter told Draco to come straightaway.

When he read it, Draco went directly to the Floo, his heart fluttering in his throat, parchment still in hand.

~*~

Arriving in Harry’s front room, he found Harry waiting for him, standing by the fireplace, still and stoic. He watched silently as Draco brushed himself off. Draco took his time cleaning the ashes that clung to him from the Floo, grateful for the excuse as he took a few steadying breaths. He could feel heat in his cheeks and knew he was flushing. He knew Harry would be able to see it.

But as he swept away the last fleck of soot from his sleeve, he found he was fine with the transparency. Let Harry see how affected he was. Let him see that, for Draco, this was real.

He straightened and offered a cautious smile. “Hello, Harry.”

Harry nodded and gestured towards the old, blue sofa. “Would you like to sit?”

Draco nodded, foolishly pleased at being directed to what had been one of their favourite spots to sit together. The feeling didn’t last, however, as Harry sat in one of the armchairs across from him rather than joining him on the sofa. 

The room had changed since Draco had been there last; Harry had decorated for the holidays. A tall Christmas tree stood in one corner, decked out in fat red ribbon, twinkling lights, and a riot of colourful ornaments, some clearly made by the children. Paper chains of green, red, silver, and gold framed the doorways. The fireplace mantel was adorned with boughs of evergreen and holly, tall, cream-coloured candles, and a variety of beautiful glass ornaments. Draco recognised several of them; they’d been gifts from his mother back when he and Harry had been together. He wondered if Ginny Weasley was aware of their origin.

Harry cleared his throat, shaking Draco from his musings. He looked over and found Harry watching him, his expression grim.

Harry wasted no time getting down to it. “So, you wanted us to sit down together; we’re sitting down together. I’m still not clear on why.”

There was bitterness in Harry’s tone, but Draco refused to be deterred. Taking a page from the Gryffindors in his life, he spoke plainly. “You know why. We’re sitting down together because Hermione told me you and Ginny have separated.”

Irritation flickered across Harry’s face. “She shouldn’t have told you that. It wasn’t her place.”

“Since when has that ever stopped her?” Draco risked a small grin. 

Harry didn’t return it. If anything, his expression hardened further. His hands tightened into fists on the arms of the chair. “What do you want, Draco?”

Draco was very aware this was likely his only chance. Harry wouldn’t open his door to him again.

He met Harry’s eyes, steady and deliberate. “I miss you. I have missed you. Every day for the last six years.”

Harry stared at him, hard, his lips pressing into a thin line. The faintest tremor ran across his shoulders, and Draco could almost feel Harry wrestling with whatever feeling his words had evoked. Harry’s eyes bore into Draco for a long moment and then cut away. His jaw clenched so tightly that Draco’s teeth ached just seeing it. 

Draco dared do little more than breathe. The seconds ticked by, agonisingly slow, and he waited, resisting the urge to fill the hostile silence with babbled apologies.

Finally, Harry dragged in a rough breath and asked, “What do you expect me to say to that?”

“Nothing. Anything. Whatever you need to say. After all this time and how I left, I’m sure there’s something you want to say to me, even if it’s just to fuck off and leave you alone.”

Harry snorted. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been saying that for several weeks now.”

Draco couldn’t help rolling his eyes. 

Harry sighed and shifted in his chair. Fists unclenching, his hands came to rest on his thighs. Some of the hardness seemed to leave his face and instead he just looked weary.“I used to have things I wanted to say to you. I can’t tell you all the imagined conversations I had with you that first year. But now? I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

Draco felt Harry’s words like a blow to the chest. They speared into him before sinking, slow and cold, down into his stomach. 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to give into the defeat in Harry’s tone. He was here to fight for them, after all. 

He opened his eyes, found Harry’s, held them. “Then let me say some things.”

Harry shrugged and waited.

“I owe you an apology. A real one. You were right. Leaving you a letter was cowardly, and you deserved a real explanation. I have no excuse other than I was selfish and I was scared and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you face to face. I am sorry for that. Very sorry.”

Harry looked away.

Draco stood, leaving the sofa and coming around to perch on the edge of the old trunk in front of Harry. A muscle in Harry’s jaw jumped, but otherwise, he didn’t respond to Draco’s nearness. 

“I’m sorry I left. I never should have left you. Not like that. Not at all.”

Draco shifted forward as much as he dared, all too aware of how Harry’s eyes dropped to the few inches of space separating their knees before flicking up to catch Draco’s in clear warning.

He ignored the warning, leaning forward. Harry’s eyes widened in alarm, but they stayed on Draco, and that was all that mattered. “I love you, Harry. I’ve loved you from that first day when we bumped into each other at Quality Quidditch and got arguing about Puddlemere United and you invited me to join you for a pint. I suspect I even loved you before that, but I couldn’t admit it to myself.”

Harry grimaced and stood, his knees briefly bumping Draco’s as he moved away. He walked toward the fireplace and stopped, one hand reaching out to grip the mantel, his fingers clenching so hard they turned white. He left his back to Draco. 

Draco shifted around on the trunk and pushed on despite the ominous rigidity of the line of Harry’s back. “But I was also terrified. There were a lot of things about myself that I thought were intolerable. Unforgiveable. I left because I was terrified that one day you’d wake up and see me, really see me, and you’d find me intolerable, too. You’d leave. And I didn’t think I would survive it. When you proposed, I could see our life together, how good it would be, and I knew I would be destroyed when it ended. I knew I had to get out immediately before I got in any deeper.”

“So you ran,” Harry said, still not facing him. “Instead of telling me about any of this, letting me help you with it, you ran.”

Draco stood, starting to move closer, but he stopped when he saw Harry’s fingers tighten further on the mantel. “I knew what you’d say if I told you. About how I’d been young and scared and just doing what I’d been taught. You’d have said it wasn’t who I really was, not even back in our Hogwarts days. You’d have been compassionate and understanding, and you’d have believed every word you said. And it wouldn’t have made any difference. All it would have made me think was how disappointed you’d be when you figured out what I was really like.”

Harry turned abruptly, and Draco found himself taking a step back at the anger he saw in his face. “So you were doing me a favour when you left without a word? Protecting me from _disappointment_?”

Draco held up his hands, placating. “No, you were right before. I was running. I ran for a long time.”

Harry gave a sour laugh. “And now you’re done.”

“Yes. It’s taken me six years, but I’ve finally figured a few things out. Forgave myself for the unforgiveable. Realised what it means to be human, flaws and all. And realised the truth about love.”

Harry scoffed at this, but Draco pressed on.

“I had it all wrong back then. You saw the real me. You always had, right from the first time we met. You saw me at my very lowest, when I was driven to doing things I never wanted to do. And you saw me when I had no good reason for being an arse but was one anyway. You knew every weak, pathetic, despicable thing about me, and you still loved me. And even if you hadn’t have known it all, it wouldn’t have mattered when you did find out because that’s not who you are. You never would have left. You never would have stopped loving me.”

He moved forward slowly, let Harry see him coming. Harry watched with wary eyes but allowed it. Draco stopped with only a few feet between them, close enough to reach out and touch, but he didn’t. 

“I know how badly I hurt you when I left, but I never stopped loving you. I never will stop.”

Harry huffed out a breath, turned his face away.

Draco inched closer. “I’m tired of running, Harry. I want to come home.”

Harry slanted him a cool look.“You don’t need my permission to come back to England, Draco.”

“No, Harry.” Draco reached out and caught Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I want to come _home_.”

Harry shook his hand free. “This isn’t your home anymore.”

But Draco knew better. “You’ll always be my home.”

He slid closer still until all the space between them had disappeared, until the world narrowed down to the warmth of Harry’s body, the nearness of his mouth, and the emotions warring in those startling green eyes.

“Please, Harry,” he whispered and bent his head to capture Harry’s mouth.

He meant it to be only a brushing of lips. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it at all, that it was presuming far too much, but being around Harry without touching him, without kissing him, felt impossible in that moment, so he’d told himself just one small kiss. 

But the feel of Harry’s lips against his lit him up like a Lumos, undermining all his best intentions and bringing to life every lost, lonely, desperate feeling he’d been trying to shove down for the last six years. And before he knew what he was doing, he found his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair as he reached up to cup the back of Harry’s head, pulling him more firmly against his mouth. He found his lips parting, moving against Harry’s in a silent plea.

Harry froze at his touch, his mouth hard and unresponsive under Draco’s. It gutted him, leaving a hollow ache that intensified with each second that passed until it Draco felt he couldn’t possibly stand it anymore, could hardly even breathe—

But then Harry responded, his lips parting on a breath, moving against Draco’s, so warm and soft and oh god, _god,_ he’d missed this. Missed Harry. 

He moaned into Harry’s mouth, and now it was Harry whose hands were moving, sweeping over Draco’s back and shoulders, running up his neck, along his jaw, then threading through his hair, dragging him closer, closer. Harry’s tongue was curling against the roof of Draco’s mouth before stroking against his, and Draco’s every nerve was _singing_ , his whole body a chorus of need and want and longing. He kissed Harry harder, deeper, pressing their bodies together, chest to chest and hip to hip, and for a few glorious moments it was nothing but hard and hot and slick and everything, _everything_ , that Draco had remembered, and even more because he was so sure he’d never have this again, never have Harry again.

Then Harry broke the kiss.

He wrenched himself away from Draco and stalked across the room. Draco watched him push both hands through his hair, could hear his harsh breathing. 

“I can’t do this!” Harry turned to look at him, and Draco could see all the heartache he’d caused Harry there on his face.“I can’t just pick up where we left off, like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“The hell you’re not!”

“I’m not. I promise, I’m not. I’m just asking for a chance.” Draco crossed the room to stand in front of Harry again. “And I know I don’t deserve one. I know I’m the one who left. I’m the one who fucked it all up, but I’m asking anyway because nothing means anything without you, Harry.”

Harry glared at him for a long moment before dropping his gaze, his head bowing forward. “Bloody hell, Draco,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his reddened lips.

Draco had to fight the urge to kiss him again.

Instead, he stepped closer. “I know I hurt you. I don’t know if I can ever make it up to you, but I want to try.” 

Harry didn’t respond. Draco stepped closer still, until they were only inches apart, and took Harry’s hand in his again. Encouraged when Harry didn’t immediately shake him off, he let his other hand come to Harry’s hip, his grip gentle but his fingers spread wide, possessive. Harry gave a small, shuddering breath at the touch. Draco bent his head so his forehead rested against Harry’s.

“I want to show you,” he whispered. “Please. Give me a chance to be good to you.”

They stayed like that for a moment, breath mingling, bodies in contact, but then Harry sighed and stepped back. He gave Draco a searching look. 

“I can’t say yes,” he said slowly, and Draco’s heart nearly stopped before Harry continued, “But I’m not saying no, either. I need a bit of time to think.”

Draco nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. 

“The children are with me for the next few days, but they’re heading to the Burrow on Friday. Why don’t you come by then, and we’ll talk more.”

Friday. Only four days away, but it felt like far too long. Even a single day felt like too long. Too much time for Harry to start thinking about things, to change his mind. 

But since Draco was hardly in a position to object, he nodded. 

He couldn’t help moving closer to Harry, though, the thought of having to wait to see him again making his body itch for contact. 

As though reading his mind, Harry held up a warding hand. “Just talk, though. No more kisses.”

Draco nodded absently, but didn’t stop moving.

Harry’s outstretched hand stopped him, however, pushing against Draco’s shoulder, pressing him back, maintaining space. 

“I mean it, Draco.” He fixed Draco with a stern look. “The physical stuff was never the hard part with us.”

“I don’t know about that.” Draco allowed himself a smirk. “I remember some parts being pretty hard.”

“But that’s not what made you run.”

The smirk fell from Draco’s face. “No, it’s not.”

“I don’t want there to be any doubt this time. Sex will just confuse things.”

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Harry’s brain had jumped from kisses to sex in less than a minute, speeding ahead even as he was trying to put on the brakes. Surely, that was a good sign...

He couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face.

Harry gave him a dubious look.“You did catch the part where I said I’m not saying yes, right?”

“I did. But I also heard you say you’re not saying no, either. And that’s all I need. Just the chance.”

Harry nodded. His eyes fell to Draco’s mouth, stayed there. Draco’s grin widened. He licked his lips slowly, gratified by the way Harry’s mouth fell open ever so slightly in response. 

But he’d just made the promise to be good to Harry, and Harry was asking for time. And he was right. The sex was easy, had been from the moment they’d figured out that it wasn’t really a good fight they’d been spoiling for all those years. And it would be easy now, but it wouldn’t fix what needed fixing.

Harry was still watching Draco’s mouth, his body starting to lean towards Draco. 

“So, Friday then?” Draco said.

Harry’s eyes snapped back to Draco’s, and he straightened, a hint of a blush tinting his cheeks. He nodded. “Friday.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He felt like he should say more, say something about how much he loved Harry, how hard he was going to work to win back his trust, but as he looked at Harry standing there, disheveled, colour in his cheeks, his eyes not quite meeting Draco’s, he realised he didn’t need to. Not at that moment. There would be time to say everything they needed to say to each other. And in the end, it would be his actions far more than his words that would matter to Harry—Harry was a Gryffindor, after all.

So he would start by giving Harry the time he’d requested. He’d give Harry as much time as he needed. But once Harry was ready, once he opened his door to Draco for real…

He’d left once, let fear send him running to America. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

Harry was his home, and Draco planned on coming home to stay.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or [on Livejournal.](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/10735.html)


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